


The Box

by Waking_Dreamland



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: 13k words, 40k, Eldar, F/M, Guardsmen, Heresy, Howling Banshees, Human, Lots of heresy, My First 40k, Warhammer 40k - Freeform, pretty vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 15:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17963123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waking_Dreamland/pseuds/Waking_Dreamland
Summary: An eldar Farseer's warning leads to Ailyri, Banshee Exarch, saving the life of Sr Sergeant Devon Harrows. But the prophecy is incomplete; Ailyri has a very strange request.





	The Box

**Author's Note:**

> This work was requested by a Patron. I was unfamiliar with Warhammer 40k, but I decided to give it a shot anyway. I hope it's enjoyed.

_Nobody ever looks up._ High among the thick pine branches, Exarch Ailyri looked around, making certain to have eyes-on for each Banshee of the dozen that had come to this unimportant forest planet. Grace and training kept her balanced as she stood on a branch that shouldn't have supported her armored weight. Once she had accounted for all eleven bright red helmet-plumes, she returned to studying the broad natural path through the forest that all of her Banshees were busy watching.

 _Could Emali have been wrong?_ It seemed so strange, her prophecy, but she was one of the strongest psykers she knew. Being wrong was unlikely. _I get saving the mon-keigh from whatever disaster --on this quiet planet, no less-- awaits, but why does she want to turn my contingent into breeders? It's insulting._

This turn of events did not sit well with anyone. But the Farseer had insisted that these humans and the huge box they towed along with them be saved, and that an attempt be made to bed the soldiers. There was a hint that a half-breed would be needed in the future, but Ailyri was still a little irate that her unit had been chosen for this task. Then again, the Farseer had chosen them specifically, so perhaps it was necessity rather than random chance that had brought their unit to this planet.

The Guardsmen were still a mile or two behind; Ailyri had sent her squad ahead to scout out potential sources of danger. She had a prickling intuition that it wasn't what lay ahead, but what marched behind, that would provide the danger to both box and soldiers.

About ten miles ago, this squad of Guardsmen had rendezvoused with a larger unit to receive the box, which clearly, they'd planned on. What they apparently hadn't counted on was receiving a Commissar as well, an arrogant beanpole of a man who'd immediately started to lazily bark orders without so much as speaking to the Sergeant in charge of the unit.

Said Sergeant had appeared to take this transition of authority relatively well, especially since his unit seemed indifferent at best to the Commissar --though of course properly obsequious when addressed by the pale man with the blonde buzz cut. Ailyri didn't know a great deal about these Guardsmen, but she'd heard that Commissars were given a very free hand with discipline, up to and including making examples of misbehaving soldiers. Those examples were made in a rather permanent fashion. 

She'd heard very polite addresses of the man, and he was simply called Commissar Dismar. She only heard that twice; once when the Sergeant handed over command, and once when he'd questioned the route that his unit was being ordered to take. Given how touchy Commissars were said to be, Ailyri was a mildly impressed that he'd had the courage --or audacity-- to question the Commissar at all. He'd been snapped at harshly and quickly, told that his business was making sure the Guardsmen guarded and hauled the box, and that anything else was too far above him to be questioned. _Arrogant indeed. ___

____

____

_Dev. I wonder what it's short for._ That was what the soldiers called their leader; Ailyri knew rank markings well enough to identify the man as a Senior Sergeant. Normally she'd assume such informality meant a rag-tag band rather than a solid unit of Guardsmen, but discipline --though strained-- was held, and the man was addressed with respect. Perhaps these men both respected and liked their leader. 

Peering through the forest through a small set of binoculars, Ailyri watched for the first sign that the soldiers were getting closer. She wasn't worried about being spotted; they really did seem to forget that threats could come from above. _If this has to be done, I suppose he'd suffice…_

* * *

At this point, he was trudging more than marching. Senior Sergeant Devon Harrows had been on the move since dawn, and had intended to break for the afternoon so his men could eat and rest a bit, but the Commissar had changed that plan by not giving a damn if the Guardsmen were hungry and tired.

Sighing quietly, he glanced back over his shoulder at the second source of his irritation: The Box. It was large enough that four people could probably fit inside if they balled themselves up and didn't mind getting cozy. The box was of light-weight but extremely strong adamantium; latches and loops were cris-crossed with heavy chains and complex locks, but there was one armorglass window he could see through.

It was an insult to curiosity that all that was available to see was wood. Apparently, the metal box just wrapped around a wooden one, though when he'd studied it more closely earlier, he thought he saw the faint remains of a symbol that someone had tried to sand away. The symbol of the Eldar.

It made him uneasy. 

Something in the back of his mind, some instinct, insistently warned him that disaster would befall his squad as a result of that box. He'd tried to dismiss the feeling, but couldn't, and the longer they walked, the stiffer the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

He patted at his chest to find the right pocket, then dipped his fingers in to withdraw a half-full package of Lho sticks. When PFC Bennett came up behind him, he simply held the package out.

"Woah.. how'd you know?" The private took the package and shook out one of the sticks, then handed it back and watched as Dev tucked it away and retrieved a lighter.

Devon smirked a little behind his neatly-trimmed goatee, though humor was absent from striking blue eyes. _I've got to stop doing that; it's going to get me in trouble one day._ "Heard you coming, and figured you were coming to get what you're always coming to get. One day, you're going to have to buy yourself your own pack, you know."

"Soon as we get paid for this gig," Bennett joked, snorting before he glanced back at the box. Humor faded from his voice. "Whatever it is."

"Best not to question," the Senior Sergeant replied, glancing toward the Commissar, easily spotted in his impractical blood-red long-coat. "I think our new leader is not a fan of curiosity." He wasn't a fan of getting the attention of Commissars focused on him, and so he kept his voice low, kept a small smile on his face so it didn't appear as though anything serious was being discussed.

The smell of pine forest surrounded them, rising up with every pace as footsteps crushed fallen needles and released more of the not-unpleasant aroma. Two soldiers were hauling the grav-sled upon which the box floated along, two soldiers were absent as they scouted the terrain ahead, and two walked on their back-trail, but no one expected much in the way of trouble. The planet was unoccupied, peaceful. _Probably won't be for long, once we report back on the resources._ The lumber alone would be worth setting up a logging colony for the Imperium. Devon thought that was something of a pity; the planet was serene and lovely as it was. But what the Imperium wanted, the Imperium got.

"What d'ya think is ahead, Sarg?" Bennett didn't look especially serious, simply glancing around at the landscape as though taking in the scenery on a pleasant hike. 

"Trouble," grumbled the Senior Sergeant as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up again.

* * *

Private Wallace looked ahead at the marshy bog that spread right across the natural path that the Commissar was intent on leading the squad up. _'Leading'. Man probably wouldn't know what to do with anything found in the wild, but if things went wrong, it would be Dev who got the blame._ Wallace crinkled his nose both in disgust at Commissars in general and at the smell that rose up from the marsh. _Smells like something died._

Private Dubrey scowled at the hazardous obstruction and folded his arms, looking from left to right; there was no end to this boggy terrain in sight in either direction. "We're gonna have to split up, scout both directions to see which way is shorter around."

Wallace nodded, still irritable about the Commissar. _Idiot probably won't believe us._ But such was the life of a soldier. "How long?"

"If we haven't found the ends of this stew in an hour, we meet back here. Dev won't like the news, though."

"It's not Dev I'm worried about."

Dubrey snorted with wry humor and shook his head. "Let's hope Commissars don't shoot the messengers."

"Alright. I'll take right, you take left, and we hope we find a way around this mess. That fancy grav-sled might be able to float over a marsh, but those of us who have to pull the damn thing won't be going anywhere in murk like that."

Dubrey nodded, and the two bumped fists before pivoting to face away from each other and trudging off, carrying long sticks gathered from the floor of the pine forest to probe for depth along the marsh.

* * *

 

The Eldar scouted ahead once they spotted the Guardsmen coming up through the forest, moving from tree to tree as easily as birds. Ailyri stopped when she spotted the marsh and the pair of mon-keigh who parted ways. _Must be going to scout a way around._ A few simple gestures and the Eldar split up, Ailyri leading her five to the left, following Dubrey.

The bog-land ruined the pleasant scent of pine that had been her companion on this journey thus far; it now smelled of rot with a slight undertone of something else… Death. Something about it made her uneasy, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Aside from the potential hazard of the Guardsmen trying to cross it, there seemed to be no danger. 

Yet still, her hand drifted to the butt of her shuriken pistol, ready to draw at the slightest hint that her intuitions were correct.

From behind her red-maned mask, she watched as Dubrey trudged along, occasionally stopping to probe at the depth of the marsh. _Don't look for a crossing point, mon-keigh. Just go around._ The more the human poked at the march, the more anxious she got, and she and her half-squad moved through the upper reaches of the trees to keep up with him. Tension seemed to spread from her to the others, and soon everyone was gripping the butts of their shuriken guns.

Minutes passed with gun-gripping tension moving through the trees as the human walked along, continuing his probing despite Ailyri's silent wishes that he stop that right now, before something bad happened.

Then, about half an hour into the scouting for the end of the bog, something bad happened.

Suddenly there was a violent splashing that sent half-rotted weeds and mosses spraying about. Dubrey jumped back, but not soon enough. A tentacle whipped out of the water and wrapped around his waist, yanking the man quickly under the marsh with only a moment for him to scream. Water rippled and splashed as he struggled.

Up in the trees, the drawing of guns was almost as synchronized as a ballet, and nearly-silent whiffs went unheard beneath the noises of the struggle as monomolecular projectiles zipped through the air to impact the wavering surface of the bog. All aimed above where Dubrey had gone under, though the struggle stopped quickly; something other than drowning must have killed the man.

And it was a thing; Ailyri could see a single eye-stalk poked above the surface glaring balefully about, likely in search of whoever was shooting it. It, too, neglected to look up, and so razor-edged disks of metal continued to rain down upon it until the eyestalk vanished beneath the bog and the surface of the water took on a reddish tint.

The Banshees descended from the trees warily, approaching the edge of the marsh. Ailyri took the polearm from her back and cautiously probed at the water where the beast, whatever it was, had apparently been, and was relieved when nothing responded. The hail of projectiles must have ended the creature. "Back up, Banshees. I'll let the Farseer know." The women climbed with ease back into the trees; the only sign that anyone had been here was a dropped vox that lay lonely and wet at the edge of the murk.

"Emali? It's done. Only one soldier was lost." The comm was built into her helmet, and Eldar technology was far more sophisticated than that of the mon-keigh.

There was a long and thoughtful pause before Ailyri heard the voice of the Farseer respond. "It is not done. Whatever disaster you've avoided, it's not the one that poses the real threat. There is something else."

Ailyri resisted the urge to sigh into the mic, instead simply shaking her head. It could never be straightforward and easy. "Now what are we supposed to do?"

"The danger is closer to the Guardsmen, perhaps among them. And the danger will come soon." Emali sounded just as tired as Ailyri felt.

"Alright… we'll follow our back-trail and see what they're up to. Keep an eye on them, though I can't imagine a danger worse than whatever pulled that soldier under the bog."

"Very good." And with a click, Emali signed off on the comm.

A few hand gestures to convey her intentions to the rest of the Banshees and they turned to head back through the trees to observe the humans again.

* * *

Wallace waited at the rendezvous site, growing more and more anxious. He'd tried reaching Dubrey on the vox to let him know he'd found a way around, but the other soldier never responded, and that was completely unlike him.

Then he heard what he was certain was a scream.

He jogged off along the path his partner had taken, a sense of dread building in his belly, but all he found was the dropped vox and some bloody water. Dubrey was gone.

Suppressing panic as his mind whirled, describing new and worse scenarios and creatures that could have been the cause of death for his friend, he turned and jogged at a faster pace down the path, intent on reporting this to Dev, warning him about the marsh. They shouldn't go anywhere near it, and he hoped the Commissar would be reasonable and agree.

* * *

Private Wallace looked small in the distance, but when Devon brought up his binoculars, trouble was revealed. _Looks like he's running away from something,_ Senior Sergeant Harrows thought. _But what?_ That sense of incoming trouble grew as though every quick footstep from Wallace was an alarm bell.

He held up one hand in a fist, signaling for the soldiers behind him to stop with the box. "Looks like Wallace is coming in… looks like trouble."

There was a general muttering from the remaining members of the unit; Bennett plus the pair controlling the grav-sled approached with a bit of concern to stare out at Wallace moving at the quick trot that had their Sergeant a little unnerved. "Didn't think there was anything dangerous on this planet; why's he look all panicked?" Bennett lowered his binoculars to look at Dev. All he got for his question was a shrug.

The eyes of the soldiers were drawn to a flutter of not-remotely-subtle crimson as the Commissar stalked over; if the tall, pale man had a tail, it would be lashing in irritation. "What is the hold-up? There's no need to wait on one soldier; get moving! You'll see him faster that way."

The three lower-ranked soldiers looked down and kept their mouths shut, but Devon shook his head. "Not the way he's looking. Seems there's some sort of trouble up ahead, and by all appearances, it's the sort of trouble that leaves him without his partner. We're not going ahead until we've had a report from Wallace."

The Commissar got a look on his face that almost predicted he'd say something like 'how dare you defy Imperial orders?!' But instead of screeching at Devon, he took several slow breaths and glared at the Sergeant with narrowed eyes. "I will let you get away with that once, Harrows. Fine. But five minutes after he gives his report, we're moving again. And you won't be countermanding me; this squad can move a box without a Senior Sergeant if needed. Am I understood?"

Devon wasn't even unnerved by the obvious threat to his life, though his soldiers were gritting their teeth. He simply nodded in a curt fashion, then dragged his fingers through brown hair in need of a trim; the motion only made it look a little more mussed. 

It wasn't an especially long wait, and then Wallace was there, standing stiffly formal even though his eyes were wide enough to show white all the way around. "Relax, man, and report," barked the Commissar, making the private look even more anxious. He did not do as ordered.

Devon sighed. "Wallace, what happened?"

Wallace slumped a little, apparently as relaxed as the soldier was going to get. "I don't know, Sarg. We split to scout around an area of swamp, and I heard Dubrey scream. I came running back to check on him; he was gone. Just bloody marsh water and his vox," he finished, holding out the vox in question with a shaky hand.

Devon frowned and took the vox while the other three soldiers muttered among themselves; the general tone was one of worry. "Are you sure he's dead?"

While Wallace hadn't said anything about Dubrey being dead, he nodded with a faintly perplexed look on his face. "Just the bloody swamp water. No bubbles, no struggle, nothing."

Mentally cursing himself for blurting out his intuition, Devon nodded. "Alright. This swamp. Did you find a way around it?"

"Yes, Sergeant. Veer hard to the right and march through tomorrow afternoon, then we can get back on course. It'll avoid the marsh completely."

Now the Commissar stepped in, snapping, "We will not be going around any bit of muck; we're on a schedule! There will be areas shallow enough to cross and the grav-sled will be fine. Your troops are just going to have to get soggy, Harrows."

Idiot. Harrows narrowed his eyes and stared up at the Commissar, then shook his head. "We are not going through unfamiliar terrain that one of my people just died in, Commissar. We go around."

Devon didn't even flinch when Commissar Dismar's boltpistol whipped out and aimed at the side of his head in the blink of an eye.

* * *

 

Once caught up to the stumbling Wallace, it had been easy to keep up with him as he made his almost-panicked way back to camp. He had to go around trees and dense thickets, while the Banshees simply went through the lofty tops. But that didn't truly satisfy Ailyri; she could almost hear 'something's wrong, something's wrong,' being chanted in the back of her head. She trusted her own moderate psyker abilities, and they were screaming at her that they might be too late.

And they very nearly were.

Several yards out and even more yards up, Ailyri saw the bright red movement of the Commissar, saw tree-filtered sunlight glint off a heavy boltpistol. She didn't give orders, didn't even think; with no conscious effort, her shuriken pistol was raised and fired faster than she could consider if this was a good idea or not.

The Commissar crumpled into a pile of red fabric and pale buzz cut, more red on one side of his head, leaving a tiny trickle of blood.

And then more guns came out. Ailyri was startled to see one aimed directly at her. 

* * *

Devon Harrows had never anticipated an especially long life. That's what things were like in the military; a simple wrong move would end in hopefully quick and merciful death. As red fabric blurred to raise the well oiled bolt pistol, his hope was that his troops would put an end to the Commissar after his death, and make their safer way to the pick-up point.

Even with this devout wish, he was startled when no piercing bang preceded his death. He turned his head in time to see the Commissar dropping like a stone, along with the shocked expressions on the faces of his soldiers; that told him immediately that an outside force was attacking.

No thought went into his movement, but suddenly his lasgun was drawn and aimed in the direction Wallace had come from. And up. That was what baffled him; why had he chosen to aim up? Everyone else had a weapon drawn and aimed in the same general direction, but none were pointed toward the tops of the trees. He was about to lower his weapon when he caught sight of something falling through the needle-covered branches: A gun. Not a lasgun, but something else. It bounced twice when it hit the ground, then lay there as if designed to generate confusion.

He opted to keep his aim right where it was, though he couldn't see anything through the screen of trees. "Come down where we can see you!" he shouted, and the aim of his soldiers drifted upward though there was nothing visible to aim at. "Explain yourself!"

Now he caught movement in the trees, flashes of pale gold and bright red. Instinct told him he could lower his weapon in safety; stubbornness kept it raised and aimed at the closest figure descending from the trees. Finally, that one dropped to land on the needle-covered floor of the forest, straightening and staring at him. Now his gun lowered, simply to keep it pointed at the figure. _Eldar Banshees…_ More dropped down, all with weapons drawn but held at their sides, the wind flitting through the high crimson ponytails eleven of the women wore, and stirring the red mane of the one in front. _What have we gotten into? ___

____

____

"Explain yourselves," Devon said in lower tones, his gun still aimed at the masked figure in front. He'd never seen a Banshee before, but he'd heard damn well what those masks could do. _All those women need to do is scream and we're down for the count._ He eyed the Exarch warily, looking over the pale golden armor that seemed to flex and stretch when she moved, the elaborate pole arm she'd taken off her back to use as if it were a walking stick. The other women stayed where they were, shuriken guns in hand but aimed harmlessly to the ground, while the Exarch started to slowly approach.

"He would have killed you, yes?" Ailyri reached up slowly with her free hand, snapping the clasps that held the mask on free. She pulled it off, letting auburn hair tumble down her back, and eyes the color of vibrant moss stared at Devon.

She looked much less intimidating to Devon without the mask. _Pretty…_ Angular features were just shy of being sharp, and the points of tall ears poked out from under thick reddish hair. A spattering of freckles went across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, but what held his attention the most were those big, tilted eyes. Not looking away from her, he raised a hand and slowly lowered it, and the soldiers behind him lowered their lasguns to point at the ground. "Yes. But what's that matter to you?"

As the Guardsmen lowered their weapons, the Banshees tucked their shuriken pistols back into their holsters, apparently confident that, if needed, they could take down the squad without needing the head start of pistols in hand. And they were right; the stunning shriek that the Banshees were named for would give them plenty of time to wreak whatever havoc they wanted. But it was at least a good gesture.

 _He's not going to believe me._ For some reason, that thought made Ailyri a little upset. Humans were so suspicious and so superstitious that tales of prophecy would have as much chance of driving them off as it would being believed. More. _But I have to tell him --them-- something, and it may as well be the truth._ "One of our Farseers told us to come to this planet and watch your squad. Direct danger was prophesized. I initially thought that it was the swamp that was the danger, but as it turns out, your Commissar was." _Or so I assume; I must check in with Emali._ She saw no need to go into the other part of that prophecy just yet.

She got the reactions she expected. The scruffy-looking soldier with the medic band around one arm and the name Bennett over his heart outright snickered as though this was a matter of humor, while the others scoffed or gave her narrow-eyed looks of suspicion.

But not him. Sergeant Harrows stared at her, but seemed to be more staring through her, contemplatively. His lips pursed and his brow furrowed, but those startlingly blue eyes showed no sign of scorn or suspicion. After several breaths, he slowly nodded, causing the soldiers behind him to look mildly surprised.

"And I thank you and your Farseer for saving my life. Now what? And what did you see at the swamp?"

He certainly was blunt. "I'm afraid your man is dead, Sergeant." She may as well be blunt too. It felt a little liberating to not be dancing delicately around subjects. "There was something large living in that bog, and it got him. It's dead now," she added with a shrug, "But there may be more. You still need to avoid the area." Ailyri went quiet as she watched the reactions of the soldiers; Bennett put an arm around Wallace's shoulders while the other two, one with rumpled blonde hair, the other with a black buzz cut, moved closer and started muttering, perhaps prayers for the deceased. "I am sorry for your loss. It happened too swiftly; we weren't able to save him."

The Sergeant was still staring at her, blue eyes meeting green with surprising intensity, and his silence made her feel a flutter of nervousness in her belly. Finally, he nodded. "You tried. Thank you for that. But you haven't answered my other question…"

 _Now what? Now what, indeed._ "Personally," Ailyri said with a shrug, "I'd suggest making camp here for the night and starting out early to detour around the swamp with your… cargo."

Dev narrowed his eyes for a moment, vividly recalling the ghost of the Eldar symbol on the wooden box encased in adamantium sitting serenely atop the grav-sled. _Is she here for that? She doesn't seem especially interested, but why is she implying we camp together?_ There was something compelling about the woman that kept his gaze focused, and it was intense enough to make him a little uneasy, though he prided himself on not showing it. "You're intending to stay with us?"

"Yes, if you've no objection. The danger may not be passed yet, and we're here to ensure that your squad makes it off the planet with no more casualties." As tension faded from both groups, who were now confident that a shooting spree wasn't going to take place, a few of the other women took off their masks and held the plumed helmets at one hip. Short hair and long, light skin and dark, all the women were at least pretty if not more, and all were appraising the Guardsmen that stood before them. 

"I suppose there's no harm in shared camps, though there won't be enough tents to go around, even if I double up my men in theirs." A few soft groans came at that comment; their tents were not especially large, and doubling up would be more than cozy. 

"Oh, don't worry. My Banshees all have good-sized tents ready to set up. And I'm sure your unlamented Commissar had a very nice tent for himself as well." She crinkled her freckled nose a little. "It would have to be large enough to have housed his ego."

Bennett barked a brief laugh at that, shaking his head, a lopsided grin on his face. "Planet barely did that, ma'am." Chuckles came from the other soldiers as they finally started to really relax among these strangers.

After a moment of thought, "You may call me Ailyri."

"We can do introductions around the fires once we're set up," said Devon. 

Ailyri found herself stepping forward, close to the Senior Sergeant. "I've given you my name. Will you give me yours?"

Devon eyed her askance for a moment, looking as if he was committing what he saw to memory, or perhaps analyzing for hidden motives before he extended one calloused hand. "Devon Harrows."

Ailyri looked down at the hand, confused for a moment until she remembered that these humans shook hands in greeting. She took his hand in hers, and for a moment felt as if the ground had abruptly sunk several feet lower, leaving her floating for a moment before dropping down to meet the pine needle covered floor again. By the surprised widening of the man's remarkable blue eyes, he'd felt something quite similar, but he didn't pull back or let go of her hand, raising and lowering the clasp once in the human-traditional handshake. "Something tells me that this collaboration will be… memorable…"

Devon furrowed his brow and nodded slowly. "Yes. I suspect so."

* * *

 

Tension was in the campsite almost from the first moment people started to set up. Both groups were pitching their tents in opposite sides of the clearing as if instinctively unwilling to mingle. Devon stood in the middle of the Guardsman side of the clearing, frowning a little, quietly displeased that they weren't grouping together. But he'd heard the Eldar were xenophobic, and he knew that his soldiers were suspicious of the prophecy story that the Exarch had told. With both of us so leery of each other, I suppose I should be grateful that we're in the same clearing at all.

 

Ailyri had been correct about the tent; it was tall enough to stand in (barely) and large enough to sleep three if they were comfortable with each other. Four poles at the corners and a fifth in the middle to keep the roof up kept the structure nicely stable even against the wind that sometimes blew through the camp. Blessedly, it was a simple dark green; Devon would not have been surprised to find some ornate red and gold tent complete with flags. Even after he'd moved his stuff in, the place felt like he was rattling around inside it; bedroll, small folding chair and matching table, and a duffel bag didn't take up all that much space.

He unfastened his flack vest and set it near his bedroll so it would be right there if some emergency happened during the night, though Devon found that unlikely. The button-up fatigue shirt came next, leaving him in a olive green sleeveless shirt. He stood there, fatigue shirt in hand, and thought about what had transpired between him and the Exarch. _Never felt anything like that before, unless I was getting a strong premonition. But all I got was sensation, no foretelling. And she clearly felt it too… Why are they really here…_

He was so lost in thought that he nearly jumped out of his skin when someone outside clapped twice at the closed entrance to the tent. Shaking his head at his own tension, he raised his voice. "Come in." _Probably Bennett come to tell me who drew short straws for Commissar removal duty._

It was not.

* * *

Ailyri had set up her tent, a low dome shape with just enough room inside it for herself and her belongings, then watched the people …fail to interact. This was already not going well. _How are they supposed to reach extremes of intimacy if they can't even sit down at a campfire and chat? Stubborn._ Devon's people and her own.

She'd contacted Emali, and it had been confirmed that the threat was neutralized. That was a relief, though no one's guard would be lowered as a result. This was a strange planet with unknown wildlife and humans were known to be unpredictable, even sava- _Damn it, even I'm doing it! The humans are not a threat; they're just suspicious of us, and who could blame them? We're suspicious of them right back._ This was not going to work out, just sitting back and hoping the rest of the Foretelling would resolve on its own.

 _I'll have to tell the Senior Sergeant why we're really staying,_ she thought with a heavy sigh. There was a chance she'd be believed, but would a human really care? He certainly had no investment in aiding the Eldar with something so intimate. Long ears gave a little twitch that reflected embarrassment as she wondered how exactly she was going to broach the subject. _Bluntly. It will have to be bluntly._

And it may as well be now. Ailyri turned toward the human side of the clearing and headed toward the tall green tent. As she entered the human's zone, people stopped working. Wallace and the two she'd seen earlier, black buzz cut and shaggy blonde, were absent; Ailyri presumed they were on patrol or handling the Commissar's remains. The rear guardsmen were in the camp now and stared at her with a mix of suspicion and awe. At least until Bennett waved a hand in front of their faces to snap them out of it, and then they looked away, chagrined. 

She offered small smiles to the soldiers, and Bennett at least returned the gesture, but the other two seemed too leery of her to respond. Sighing inwardly, she stood outside the tent flaps and clapped her hands twice.

"Come in," came that gruff but authoritative voice, and she did just that. Then she stopped, eyeing the human as the tent flaps closed behind her. She'd assumed he had armor on underneath his jacket, but as it turned out, that bit of bulk she'd seen was simply muscle. His back was to her, so she let herself stare a bit, feeling oddly fascinated. Then she realized that the silence was growing awkward, so she cleared her throat.

Devon turned, then looked taken aback; he must have been expecting one of his soldiers. "Exarch. What brings you by? I hope there's no trouble, real or prophesized." A small grin played across his lips before she could bristle at the implied doubt, and she shook her head with a small smile.

"I'm afraid it's prophesized trouble, and the other part of why we're here."

"I was waiting for the other shoe to drop." At her perplexed expression, he clarified, "It means getting part of the information and knowing that there's more to come, and then it does."

Ailyri shook her head again with a bemused smile. "I see," she replied, then looked around for somewhere to sit. Finally, she just sat down on the ground. "This might take a bit of explanation, but I'm afraid I don't have much to give. The Foretellings are often vague and cryptic. Will you sit with me?"

He made no comment about prophecy, but sat down in front of her and looked patient. _Maybe he will believe. But if he believes, what will he do about it?_

A sigh parted her lips. Best get it over with. "We were told --my unit specifically-- that we were to come watch over your Guardsmen and make sure no harm came to the squad or the box. I've confirmed, by the way, that the Commissar was the prophesized threat." He nodded, seeming unsurprised, and he still looked patient, so she continued. "We were also told to camp with you and attempt to bed your soldiers." She couldn't stop the bit of pink that stained her cheeks beneath the spattering of pale brown freckles, and she glanced down, chewing on her lower lip.

Devon just stared at her. _I must have misheard. Or maybe it means something different to them, something getting lost in translation._ "…I beg your pardon?"

"It would seem," Ailyri said quietly, still looking a little on the embarrassed and awkward side --something Devon would never have expected from an Eldar-- "That among my people, there will be a desperate need for a half-breed child. One born of someone from your squad and someone from mine. So we've been ordered to bed your soldiers."

Devon's brow furrowed again and blue eyes narrowed as he peered at the Eldar, noting the blush that formed along her cheeks and the tips of her pointed ears. Irritation began to replace confusion. "So not only are you here to bed my soldiers, but your people expect to get knocked up by them." He tilted his head and leaned forward, staring at her almost angrily. "That's why we needed to be alive? You saved us so we could be breeding stock?"

Elbows on her knees, she placed her head in her hands and stared down at the pale gold of her thigh-plates, sighing heavily enough that her shoulders rose and fell with the breath. "Think this is ideal for us? Don't forget, Senior Sergeant, that we were told we're to be breeding stock as well. I don't like it, but that's the way it is."

"You don't like it? How do you even expect this to happen?! What you're proposing is heresy of the highest order; if word of this got out, we'd all be executed! Besides, we can't even manage to set up camp together; everyone's staring at each other from opposite sides, waiting for something to happen! And you think somehow that my men will cozy up with your Banshees for a night of fucking?"

"Crude," Ailyri said with her ears slanting backward in irritation. "But accurate. I don't know why it's needed, only that it is. That's why I came to you, so we could try to work something out that would get both sides mingling!" _Stubborn, bull-headed, suspicious, superstitious mon-keigh!_ Not that her own people were any better, but it irked her to no end that this specific human was being so recalcitrant about the matter.

"What am I supposed to do, go inform the men that they can get laid --twice, no less; you outnumber us almost two to one-- if only they'll trust these total strangers and accept that the intent is to produce a kid?"

"Yes!"

Voices had been starting to raise, but at her exclamation, they both stared at each other for a moment, then began to snicker. "You.. you really expect me to just do that?"

"Sure," Ailyri said around her chuckles; she wasn't even sure what was funny, but tension had broken before it could rise too high. "Why not? I've known very few men who would pass up the opportunity for no-strings-attached sex. Why should humans be any different?"

"But there is a string attached. It's a kid."

Ailyri nodded with a touch of solemnity. "Yes. And I don't know why one is needed; neither does our Farseer. But it's necessary. Please, will you go at least talk to your men? Surely some will be willing to look past their suspicions."

"And what of you? How will you inform your squad?" Devon tried to picture those powerful women being informed that they're needed as breeders and just couldn't do it.

"It's already done. To be honest, I suspect they've been talking among themselves, deciding which men are preferable to an individual's tastes." 

"So they're a meat market." Devon was feeling touchy; too much uncertainty was going around and he didn't like it much. He liked even less his soldiers being used, even if it was in a way most of them would likely very much enjoy.

"Are you going to help or not?" Mirth faded with the resurgence of irritation and she folded her arms across her chest, eyeing him a bit impatiently.

"Fine. But I'm not ordering anyone to do anything," the Sergeant growled as he stood abruptly. Something made Ailyri's breath catch for a moment, but before she could analyze what it was, Devon had pivoted and stormed out of the tent, leaving her there to sit and contemplate what will happen when he returned.

* * *

 _Heresy. I'm asking my men to commit heresy._ Not once did it occur to Devon that one of his soldiers could report him; none would. They were all loyal, to him and to each other.

He was halfway to the cook fire they'd set up and he stopped, watching what was left of his squad toast to Dubrey. Wallace, uniform rumpled, sat with his head lowered while Bennett, dark brown hair hanging over his eyes, wrapped an arm around the bereft man. Jinsan, with his black buzz cut and nasty scar over one dark eye sat close to Hayek, who kept running his fingers through shaggy blonde hair. Turning the spit that held a haunch of meat was Delfi, who stared across the campsite at the women, expression blank, firelight reflecting a bit off of his bald black head. Ferris, whose buzz cut needed to be renewed, sat leaning against an old pine; he rubbed at the top of his head with one palm while speaking quietly, holding his tin mess cup aloft in his other hand, and the others responded in kind.

They'd been a tight-knit squad for over a decade. Devon always thought he could predict just how each of them would react to a situation, but he'd never considered this particular situation. _They'll think about it… how could they not; a bunch of beautiful, exotic women are offering sex with little in the way of attached strings. It might be heresy, but it's also forbidden fruit._ And Devon wouldn't blame them for that choice. Truly, he hoped that they'd agree, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He just had a feeling, and he'd learned to trust those. This really was necessary to the Eldar.

Squaring his shoulders for the backlash that was sure to come, he resumed his trek to the campfire and took a seat on a fallen log.

* * *

Ailyri watched through a gap in the dark green tent flaps as Devon sat down with his men. At the first startled yelp of 'heresy!' from one of them --Wallace, she thought-- she sighed heavily and put her palm to her forehead. It was already going poorly.

But then the black man held out what looked like a heavy bolt gun butt first toward Wallace and said something softly. They spoke a moment, then Wallace sighed and nodded, accepting the weapon that must have belonged to the late and unlamented Commissar.

Then, as the Sergeant continued speaking, the soldiers leaned forward and seemed to listen with interest. The thought of heresy wasn't such a bother to them any more, and Ailyri found that exceedingly strange. Stranger, a few of the Guardsmen started nodding slowly. Moments ago, the men had appeared offended that their leader would even suggest such a thing; now they were all considering it.

She knew there was something about Devon that singled him out from the group somehow, something that made him just a little bit of a mystery. How he'd anticipated trouble ahead well before they'd gotten near the swamp. How he'd aimed up directly at her without even really looking. And now how he was swaying a crowd so easily with a simple sense of camaraderie. He was a psyker. Untrained, most likely, but potentially strong if he could change the minds of his soldiers so quickly. It might even be why they were so loyal to him, and why she took to him early on. 

_Maybe that's why we had that sensation when we touched._ Ailyri blinked, then felt her eyes go a little wide. _Is it going to be like that every time we touch? Suddenly, she was quite eager for Devon to return to the tent._

* * *

 _Didn't think they'd come around so fast._ Devon wasn't disappointed in his Guardsmen, just a little bemused at how quickly the gift of a gun had calmed Wallace and his own words had calmed the rest of them. No more shouts of 'heresy!' had been made, and Devon had explained the entire situation to them, even about the need for a half-breed. He'd expected his people to jump up and shout 'heresy' at that part, but they'd calmly listened, nodding, already on board with the idea. _I didn't realize how lonely they were. It's been a long, long stint on assignments._

He supposed he was a bit lonely too, but someone had to stand watch while the rest of the Guardsmen were delightfully distracted. He pushed the flap aside and ducked into his new tent, intending to get dressed and strap on his flack vest, when he nearly jumped out of his skin upon seeing the Exarch. "You're still here."

She didn't tease him about stating the obvious. Instead, she started finding the clasps on her armor plates and unhooking them, much to his surprise. "They took to the idea well, then?" Something about her question made him think she already knew the answer and then some. 

"Yes, they agreed, what are you doing?"

She set the shoulder plates aside near his flak vest, then started fumbling along her side to get at the clasps for the chest plate. "Taking off my armor."

"Ye-es, I'd managed to notice that. Why?" Devon folded his arms across his chest and peered quizzically at her. "Shouldn't you be out choosing your breeder from the meat market?" Inwardly, he tsked at himself; that was rude, but when he was abruptly confused like this, he got testy.

"I have."

Devon stared at her for a long moment, unblinking, then suddenly shook his head. "Choose again; I have to be on watch while all of this goes down. Why would you want me anyway; there are prettier, younger men aplenty out there." _Me?_

"I decided you'd be suitable well before we met; the way your men follow you, the way you were willing to stand up to that Commissar… And I like you." That last made the faintest pink stain her cheeks, and she glanced down as though to peer at the clasps along her side.

Devon stepped forward and pushed her busy hands away from the armor, unhooking the clasps himself, not noticing her surprised stare. "I'm flattered," _So far beyond flattered…_ "But like I said, someone needs to be on guard. You'll have to pick someone else." _Why am I denying this? What in blazes is wrong with me? It may be heresy, but no one would know._

"You forget we outnumber you almost two to one," she said softly. "There are plenty of guards; my Banshees have already been assigned watches."

 _She's got an answer for everything._ Now if only he had an answer for why he was so reluctant. He watched as she removed the unfastened chest-and-back plates, setting them aside before bending low to start removing the thigh plates, undeterred by his protests. When she set those aside as well and straightened, he couldn't help staring at her. All that was worn under the armor was a dark gray body suit, and it put the lush curves and lean lines of her figure on display.

When she caught him looking, a little half-smile played across her full lips and a glint of good humor gleamed in moss-green eyes. He cleared his throat and looked away, making her huff a sigh of irritation. "It shouldn't be as though this is a chore, Devon. Am I so unappealing?"

"No, no… you're appealing, believe me." He scrubbed one hand at the back of his neck, still looking away as she stepped out of her pale gold boots and removed her arm guards, soon in nothing but the body suit. 

"Then what is stopping you?"

Devon looked up finally, watching her eyes instead of the tempting display of her body. _I don't know…_ "It just doesn't feel right." _But it does…_ "This is heresy." _Who cares…_

Finally, Ailyri had enough. She stepped forward, abruptly closing the distance, reached up to curl a hand around the back of his head and tangled her fingers in brown hair, lifted onto her toes, and kissed him. The world fell away.

* * *

 

Outside, twilight had befallen the camp, but two moons reflected light down to provide decent illumination. Guardsmen sat around their fire, eating an evening meal of roasted meat and small bowls of oatmeal; standard fare if there happened to be a decent hunter in the squad. They'd watched as five golden-armored and masked women had filtered out of the campsite to take up roosts in trees, apparently taking the first watch for the night.

All the men seemed anxious, and soon what was passed around for tin cups was liquor plucked from some stash… probably the Commissar's. They huddled together, talking in hushed tones about what the night would bring. As a group, they were riddled with tension and nervousness; all of them knew that this was the worst sort of heresy, but they'd agreed, and none were inclined to go back on that. Still, this was exceedingly irregular and they weren't sure what to make of the situation.

Then, suddenly, nervousness fell away. The Guardsmen started to stand as if compelled as women drifted through filtered moonlight, looking like sleek shadows in gray bodygloves, silent as a cat stalking prey.

Some were pretty, some were cute, and some were sexy, but every one of them was a beauty. Impossible to refuse. They approached in a group, then split off a bit, each one moving to the man she'd chosen for this prophesized necessity, each seeming fairly relaxed about it; perhaps they'd had their own liquor bottle to pass around, to be rid of the xenophobia typical to Eldar.

A woman with skin the color of coffee and eyes even darker approached Wallace, who looked a little anxious, but something made him hold out his hand. She took it and stepped up close, putting her other hand on his chest and looking up at him expectantly. Another, with a ready grin and humor lighting gray eyes moved up to Bennet. As the other Banshees chose their partners, the grinning woman quipped, "Hope you all have a lot of stamina. This could be a long night."

* * *

The moment their lips met, doubts and self-consciousness and all the little excuses drifted away in a sudden burst of passion. Devon groaned softly into the kiss as her tongue found his; his arms went around her, hands seeking the zipper that would get rid of the body glove that suddenly seemed far too thick. 

Her own hands roamed, drifting over his chest and stomach as though exploring something entirely new. And they might have been; even the strongest of Eldar men tended toward slenderness, while Devon was built of thick muscle. She slipped her hands under his shirt and tried to tug upward, but locked together as they were, there was no way she was getting it off.

He broke the kiss, leaning back with eyes widened in surprise by the surge of desire that kicked in the moment they came together, and she looked similarly startled, but that didn't stop her from pulling the shirt up and off of him. She took a small step back, and suddenly Devon wondered with apprehension if she'd changed her mind.

But no, she simply twisted her arms behind herself and there was the hiss of a zipper being pulled down. She slid her arms from the sleeves and slipped the body glove down to her waist, baring beautifully rounded, firm breasts to his view: he had the urge to grab her again, but he fought it back. 

She didn't bother; Ailyri reached out to run her hands up his stomach and onto his chest, letting slender fingers slide among the dark hair there --probably also new to her. She brushed at his dog tags once, then looked up to meet his eyes. Again, he felt that sensation that was almost like floating, and by the look on her face, so did she. "What is that…" 

She shook her head, drawing rich auburn hair to fall over her shoulders and brush the tops of her breasts. "I don't know," though she did have a fairly good idea. "Does it matter?"

"No. I suppose not." _Is it going to be like that the whole time?_ That would be incredible. It did matter, but not as much as what stood right in front of him. She was stunning, and not at all shy at being half-dressed in front of a man who yesterday would have been a total stranger. He chuckled softly when her hands went for his belt, nimbly working on unfastening it. "In a hurry?"

Now she blushed and bit the pink flesh of her lower lip, hesitantly starting to withdraw her hands, and he had to choke back a laugh. _She's the nervous one?_ He felt like there were butterflies in his stomach, and he hadn't felt that way since he was a teen on a first date. He reached out and took her hands, guiding them back to his waist, letting her finish unfastening his belt before her quick fingers found the buttons of the fly. "Nothing wrong with being in a hurry, but we've got half the night before one of your Banshees has her turn."

Ailyri looked up with a slightly bashful smile. "Actually… you're mine for the night."

"Not sharing, hm?" He toed his boots off and kicked them to the side.

"I'm the Exarch. I get special privileges."

"Keep flattering me like that and I'll start to think you really do like me," he teased.

"Shut up." She stepped back in and brushed her lips over his, her breath warm and a little quick on his skin. He leaned in and let the kiss deepen naturally, feeling that flare of passion that left him a little shaken as it continued, as though the very air had turned into some sort of exotic aphrodisiac. 

Calloused hands cupped her cheeks for a moment, then slid up into that thick reddish hair so his fingertips could trace along the elegantly long ears. He was amused to find that they twitched under his touch, and chuckled softly into the kiss. _This is really happening…_

He shivered a bit from the cool air when she got his pants unfastened and let them fall to the ground, leaving him in a pair of olive boxers; he kicked the pants aside to fall atop his shed boots, then let his hands drift from her hair downward along her chest, cupping those firm, pert tits and giving them a gentle squeeze. He was rewarded by a soft moan against his lips which only served to encourage him; he lightly pinched her nipples between thumbs and forefingers, twisting them back and forth a little, making them stand out stiff and pink from the surrounding pale flesh.

Then he was the one to moan; she dropped one hand down below his stomach and pressed her palm against his swiftly-hardening cock. She gave a little jolt as though surprised, perhaps at her own boldness, then started to rub her palm back and forth against his crotch. Breath catching, he broke the kiss and let go of her lovely breasts to lean back and let out a soft growl. "Too much clothing."

"Agreed," she responded breathlessly, and got to work sliding her body glove the rest of the way down, stepping out of it while he did the same with boxers and socks. They both straightened at the same time and both paused, each looking the other over. She was a stunning combination of soft curves and firm muscle, with a small, neat triangle of dark red hair pointing downward at soft, hairless folds. He felt almost clumsy compared to her, with his bulk of war-earned muscle, scars of nearly twenty years of battle, and trimmed thatch of pubic hair, his hard cock standing out proudly from within the dark curls.

"Are you certain you want this?" Devon was fairly confident that she did, if only due to the prophesy, but he still felt the need to ask, to give her a way out of this if she wanted one.

"I want you," she murmured, and stepped in close again.

* * *

It was true… she really did want him, specifically him, and it took her by surprise just as much as the surges of lust had. Ailyri hardly knew the man, yet she'd been drawn to him before they'd ever spoken, and she wondered if it was the allure of his psyker abilities. If so, it was as powerful as the desire he awakened in her.

She stared at him, still surprised by the many differences between him and the sorts of men she usually dallied with when not out on assignment. His broad chest was decorated with scars, some appearing like claw marks, others like the scorches of a lasgun; he'd clearly been in the service of War for a long time. Hard muscle stood out, the contours of his body lacking even a light padding of fat, and his movements made that muscle ripple under light skin in a way that fascinated her to no end. She could just watch him and be enthralled.

But not with this feel of clinging desire in the air. Ailyri stepped in close again and dropped her hand, curling her fingers around the base of the surprisingly thick shaft, drawing a faintly startled groan out of the man. He looked at her with lust darkening those gorgeous blue eyes and felt a tremor run through her body. Arousal was so high she was already starting to get wet for him, yet he'd barely even started touching her.

 _Is it always like this, with a powerful psyker?_ No, probably not, but one of his specific sort of power drew her like a moth to a flame and made her tremble in anticipation. _He probably doesn't even know… I wonder if it's washed over his men yet…_

The feel of his cock resting heavily in her hand was enough to spark more lust all by itself, and she started to slowly stroke the shaft, feeling the bumps and ridges of veins that stood out beneath thin, delicate skin. It twitched hard in her grip and Devon groaned, tilting his head back with a huff of breath. He was big enough that she knew she'd be aching in the morning, and that thought was arousing too. 

She lifted onto her toes and nipped at his throat, causing him to make that little growling sound that sent tingles through her, and started stroking him faster. Finally his hands were on her, groping at her breasts and teasing tender nipples, sliding down her back to grab her ass and squeeze, pulling her close so the broad head of his cock rubbed in the neat patch of dark red hair, making her gasp. 

Desire driving at her, she twisted her grip on his cock and pushed the head lower so the tip slipped between her folds and nudged at her clit; it made her moan breathily and him stiffen with a gasp. He gripped her ass harder, almost enough that she might suspect bruises come morning, and he pulled her roughly against his body, lowering his head to give a nip to the sensitive tip of one ear. There wasn't enough space; she had to release her grip on his cock, but as soon as she did he started rocking his hips, grinding against her so that the length slid between her thighs and rubbed over that tender nub of flesh, making her whimper. She could feel the tip brushing past her entrance with each forward motion, brushing past but never sinking in; the angle wouldn't work for that. All it was, was a terrible tease and she shuddered, dragging her nails lightly down his back, having to restrain herself from scraping his flesh harder.

Moaning, feeling a heated urgency to have him inside her, she hooked one leg around his hip and leaned back, trying to get the angle right so he wouldn't simply brush past her needy hole this time. It very nearly worked; she felt the tip start to sink in, and suddenly he pulled back, leaving her to let out a soft whine of protest and look at him wide-eyed. 

With lust blazing in his eyes, he growled to her, "Not yet."

* * *

Outside, inhibitions had been holding on --barely-- until a wave of lust overtook the paired off Guardsmen and Banshees. Then, all hesitation drained away. Whispered innuendo, bodies close together, subtle and almost shy touches turned abruptly into couples going into the Guardsmen's tents. Sounds of armor being removed were swiftly replaced by sharp moans, soft whimpers, and sensual laughter that drifted through the clearing.

* * *

Devon heard the sounds from outside, but they barely registered to him; all of his attention belonged to the stunning woman pressed so intimately against him. She whined sharply when he denied her, but then he dropped down to his knees and her eyes grew even wider. Perhaps this was something Eldar simply didn't do, and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to introduce her to it.

Almost roughly, he gripped her inner thighs and pushed outward, making her stand with her legs apart as though at parade rest, though her hands were gripping his broad shoulders tightly instead of behind her back. His hands went up to the insides of her hips and he used his thumbs to spread those pale, silky folds apart and reveal the pink flesh they'd hidden from view. Just to tease her, he blew lightly across the warm, wet skin, making her shiver and gasp, still staring down at him in surprise.

Keeping his grip on her hips, he leaned in and licked along the outer folds, letting his quickened breaths wash over skin. He was aching so badly with arousal, his cock so hard and ready it nearly throbbed, but he didn't want to rush this. After all, they had all night, and he wanted to see if he could make her climax with something comparatively gentle. He already knew the sex would be rough; he wouldn't be able to help himself, wanting her so badly. And it was her that he wanted, not just sex with an Eldar, which came as a mild surprise to him. Perhaps the draw was mutual.

She let her head loll back, moaning as his tongue washed over her tender, narrow folds, breath tingling over her clit and the frills of her inner labia, into which he suddenly buried his tongue. She cried out at that, gripping his shoulders with curling fingers that dug her nails hard into his flesh, but he took pleasure from that, from knowing that he was the cause of that reaction. 

His hands crept from her hips around to grasp at her ass instead, squeezing firmly as he continued to go down on her. Her hands moved from his shoulders to tangle in his hair and her body trembled in reaction to his suckling on her clit. He drew the little nub between his lips and flicked the tip of his tongue over it, making her squirm and gasp in rising bliss. 

Soon, moans that started to rise higher in pitch and volume began to fill his tent, which pleased him to no end; she wasn't holding back to avoid being heard by the others. _Can I make her scream before the night is over?_ He intended to try. One hand left her ass, sliding around with a nail-scrape of his own, then dipped between her thighs. He looked up at her wide eyes and slipped his middle finger into her entrance, curling it to brush against the roughened patch of flesh just inside her tunnel. She gasped and might have crumpled on shaky legs if Devon hadn't been holding onto her. A little roughly, as if warning what was to come after, he started fingering her, making sure to rub at her G-spot each time he sank a digit into the wet warmth of her pussy. It wasn't long before she was panting, almost struggling in his grip; moments passed and she bit back a sharp cry as the heated tension within her snapped. Slippery juices dripped down to pool in his palm and he grinned savagely, leaning back at last so he could see her face clearly. It was contorted in pure, surprised bliss, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack, a flush spread beneath her freckles. _Perfect._

* * *

All concept of thought had fled from her mind to be overwhelmed with a pleasure beyond what she was accustomed to feeling; perhaps his own pleasure fed into hers, their psyker abilities forming a shared loop between them. Oral sex was something she'd never considered trying, and now she regretted that because this was heaven. Surely even Slaanesh couldn't inspire such lust, such pleasure.

Her climax swept her away, crashing through her like turbulent ocean waves, bringing new levels of bliss; she shook so badly she would have collapsed if he wasn't holding onto her so tightly, bracing her with his body. She bit back her cry so it came out as a high, loud whimper instead, shocked to have been brought to orgasm without sex; she was almost embarrassed by it until she saw the look in his eyes. Hunger.

She felt it too, so strongly it ached low in her belly; she wanted more. _Greedy…_ But she was in no shape to do much moving; slowly, she sunk down to her knees, bracing herself with a grip on his shoulders. His hands slid up her back and drew shivers of pale skin in their wake. Panting, she watched him with wide eyes, expecting to be teased by the gruff soldier.

"More?" His voice had that husky growl to it still and she bit her lower lip, blushing, shaking her head.

"Nn.. yes. Bed." She chuckled softly at herself and shook her head again. "Once I can move."

His laugh was sensual and he stood, then bent down and stuffed one arm behind her knees, the other sliding beneath her shoulder blades. In one smooth, easy movement he was on his feet, cradling her against his chest, and that show of strength was shockingly appealing to her, too. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled at his neck, lightly kissing along his skin, licking once over his pulse.

He carried her to the bedroll and lay her down upon it.

* * *

Never in his wildest fantasies did he imagine himself with an Eldar. It was just an impossibility. Now he stared down at the beautiful woman laying naked on his bedroll and still couldn't quite believe it. She looked so sensuous as she lay there on her back, one knee bent and thighs parted to display her pussy, glossy with wetness. That flush of pleasure still made the freckles on her cheeks stand out.

For a moment, he just watched her as he lightly stroked his aching cock, building up tension for himself. For both of them; she watched with entranced interest and he saw a shudder roll through her body. He didn't want her to wait longer; he couldn't wait longer. Devon moved to kneel between her thighs, which she spread wider for him, and pushed himself close so his cock was resting on her pussy. The first contact made her whine immediately, eyes closed, breath quickened. She must be so sensitive now… It could only enhance the pleasure for her.

She leaned up, propping herself at an angle with one elbow, just to be able to run one palm down his chest and stomach as though exploring the contours of muscle. In the flickering yellow light from the single glow globe that hung from the center pole of the tent, she looked almost surreal, and he imagined he did too. Her hand drifted lower, lightly rubbing along the length of his cock, making him shift his hips forward as if already inside her. 

He took her wrist, then leaned forward to take the other one and gently moved them above her head, effectively pinning her in place. Moss-green eyes widened and she parted pink lips to say something, then relaxed instead and stared hotly up at him. _She trusts me a great deal._ It was a surprise, a pleasant one. But not one he chose to dwell on; he leaned forward until his elbows were on the bedroll, taking his weight without putting it on her, though he was close enough that he could feel her stiffened nipples against his chest.

He started to rock his hips, letting his big cock slide up and down between the smooth folds of her pussy, rubbing over her clit with each motion, getting the head and shaft lubricated with her wetness. Devon dipped his head to kiss her firmly, the taste of her nectar still on his tongue for her to experience. She moaned into the kiss and started to grind against him, planting her feet on the bedroll and tilting her hips up, perhaps hopeful that another stroke would push him inside her clinging tunnel. _Can't do this quick; I felt how tight she was just around my finger. Gotta take it slow to start._

"Don't make me ask," she whispered against his lips, green eyes locked to blue, both filled with an almost desperate lust.

He felt a little thrill at the idea of just continually teasing her, making her ask, even beg, but not this time. He wanted her too badly for that; he'd be tormenting himself, too. Instead, he pulled his hips back until the head of his cock drifted downward to nestle against the dip of her opening. She squirmed beneath him, trying to buck her hips upward, but didn't have quite the right angle. Ailyri stopped, whimpering softly, staring up at him with passion glowing in her eyes, passion and need. 

Slowly, he shifted his hips forward, and groaned in pleasure at how snug her heated tunnel was. Lowering his head, he bit lightly at the side of her neck as she moaned for him, squirming against the grip on her wrists as though struggling, though she clearly had no interest in getting away from him. "Oh God," she whimpered.

"Heretic," he growled against her neck with a trace of humor in his voice as he buried himself to the hilt inside her in one quick, smooth stroke that had her yelp before drawing a shuddering breath.

* * *

"Savage," she responded with a soft, sensual chuckle. Ailyri was nearly dizzy with that floating sensation that came about whenever they were in contact, light-headed and euphoric, which only seemed to enhance the experience. _I want him to be savage._ He was going slow, almost gentle for her benefit, she was sure, but she wanted rougher. "You don't need to hold back," she whispered against his ear.

And he stopped holding back.

It ached, how hard he started pounding her, pushing her down into the bedroll with each thrust, making her breasts bounce against his chest. She gasped, then bit her lip to choke back a cry as his movement picked up speed; she bucked her hips eagerly in time with his, grinding firmly every time their bodies met to take him as deep as she could. _It's going to hurt in the morning._

That was her last thought. Any more simply evaporated in the aching bliss he gave her, and judging by his grunts and groans, he was in as much pleasure as she. His hands squeezed her wrists, then slid up to her palms, twining his fingers with hers. She wasn't pinned anymore, but she gripped his hands tightly, needing something to hold on to.

He filled her so tightly, forcing her soaking wet tunnel to stretch for him, driving deep each time he bucked his hips down to hers. It hurt a little, but that pain was completely overwhelmed by the quickly rising pleasure that sent tremors through her limbs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, tilting her hips up and inadvertently giving him a tighter angle, writhing beneath him. That heated ache low in her belly had returned and was waiting to snap again, building up to it each time he drove her hips into the bedroll.

* * *

She felt incredible. Every time she bucked up so eagerly beneath him, his breath caught and released in a quick moan that washed hotly against her neck. He bit again, just over her pulse, and she rewarded him with a high whimper, tilting her head to the other side to give him room, encouraging him. This one would leave a mark that would linger past morning, and he suckled on the skin, drawing redness to the surface, making sure that it would be very visible. A reminder, perhaps, of this unique night.

Devon knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer. He also realized that she was enjoying the roughness, the hard and fast fucking. Letting go of her hands, he pushed himself upright, briefly pausing in his thrusts to do so, then slid his hands under the backs of her thighs. He lifted her legs, pushing the bent limbs so her knees went nearly to her shoulders, her feet up in the air; he groaned again as the angle got tighter as her ass lifted slightly from the bedroll. She whimpered with him, shaking a little; he could feel her thighs quivering against his hands. _Close…_

Displaying the body she seemed so entranced by, he started up again, quick jerks of his hips that buried him deep. The sound of flesh impacting flesh joined other sounds of pleasure within the tent, and he dug his fingers into her thighs hard enough to bruise, drawing a whine from her.

She pushed herself up at an angle, supported by her elbows on the bedroll, and looked down her body. He glanced down as well and realized she had an angle to actually watch him sliding in and out of her, his veiny cock glistening with her wetness. She stared in lust-filled fascination, her eyes wide and jaw slack, lips parted for quick, panting breaths. Her fingers curled tight into the blanket as though she desperately needed something to hold on to, and he wasn't close enough.

His thrusts became a little more wild, a little jerky as he started getting close to climax himself. With all that build-up, he was a little surprised --pleased, but surprised-- to have lasted so long, and judging by the way she squirmed, she was right on the edge. "Close," he whispered down to her between thrusts, getting a high-pitched, eager moan in response.

With how he held her down by her thighs, her knees nearly touching her shoulders while her perky tits bounced between them, Ailyri wasn't able to buck up to meet him, but she squirmed anyway, clutching the sheets as though to keep herself anchored. Perhaps she was feeling that euphoric floating sensation that came with their contact and only seemed to grow stronger. He felt it too, and he no longer cared why, at least not at the moment. He was too lost in sensation, in the feel of her tight pussy clutching at his dick, in the rising sound of her moans, in the sight of her gorgeous body, in that fevered lust that shone in her eyes.

Her thighs started quivering uncontrollably and she writhed on the bed, back arching. He saw her lean stomach muscles tighten just before feeling a firm squeeze on his cock, and then hot juices were spilling out around his cock to soak into the blanket; her scent would be on it for a long while. He let go of her thighs and dropped down, planting his hands by either shoulder and fucking her harder, faster, keeping the thrusts short so he'd stay filling her tunnel as she climaxed. 

As soon as he was close again, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, nails digging into flesh behind his shoulder blades. As waves of pleasure crashed through her, she arched again and cried out loudly enough that the camp would be well aware of what was going on in the command tent, and dragged her nails across his back, leaving raised pink lines against his light skin. "Oh, God, cum for me, Devon," she moaned shakily, bucking her hips again now that she was free to do so.

No one had ever said anything like that to him before and it turned him on beyond belief. He was already on the edge, so her request would be granted soon enough. He dropped down to his elbows, tucking his forearms beneath her back and curling his hands to hold her shoulders from behind, keeping her in place as his thrusts became wilder, rougher. Tension snapped within him and a sharp groan burst from his throat as his cock throbbed deep inside her, sending spurts of hot cum to splash the end of her clutching tunnel. He groaned loudly again and ducked his head against the curve of her neck and shoulder, panting for breath as he bucked sporadically but firmly through his orgasm. Movement ended when climax faded, leaving him grinding deep and gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise, which she hardly seemed to mind.

They both panted for breath as they wound down, though there was that lingering feeling of warm euphoria, an afterglow enhanced by the floating sensation they created together. He didn't let his weight drop, though he did loosen his hold on her shoulders with a last groan of bliss. Her breaths were tinted with small whimpers for several moments before she shuddered and went limp beneath him. "Savage enough for you?"

She chuckled, the sound still tinged with intense sensuality, and ran her fingers over the marks on his back, making him shiver. "Not quite, but we'll do better next time, yes?"

He snickered and nipped at the mark he'd made on her neck, drawing a quick, soft moan from her. "Planning to keep me up all night?"

"We'll see."

~ ~ ~


End file.
